Roadside Crosses

would this one represent?
    And ten more waiting.
    This cross had been left on a deserted stretch of barely paved road about a mile from the water. Not highly traveled, this route was a little-known shortcut to Highway 68. Ironically, this was one of the roads that would lead to that new highway that Chilton had written about in his blog.
    Standing on a side road near the cross was the witness, a businessman in his forties, to look at him, into real estate or insurance, Dance guessed. He was round, his belly carrying his blue dress shirt well over a tired belt. His hair had receded and she saw sun freckles on his round forehead and balding crown. He stood beside a Honda Accord that had seen better days.
    They approached and O’Neil said to her, “This is Ken Pfister.”
    She shook his hand. The deputy said he was going to supervise the crime scene search and headed across the street.
    “Tell me what you saw, Mr. Pfister.”
    “Travis. Travis Brigham.”
    “Did you know it was him?”
    A nod. “I saw his picture online when I was at lunch about a half hour ago. That’s how I recognized him.”
    “Could you tell me exactly what you saw?” she asked. “And when?”
    “Okay, it was around eleven this morning. I had a meeting in Carmel. I run an Allstate agency.” He said this proudly.
    Got that one right, she thought.
    “I left about ten-forty and was driving back to Monterey. Took this shortcut. It’ll be nice when that new highway’s open, won’t it?”
    She smiled noncommittally, not a smile really.
    “And I pulled off onto that side road”—he gestured—“to make some phone calls.” He gave a broad smile. “Never drive and talk. That’s my rule.”
    Dance’s lifted eyebrow prodded him to continue.
    “I looked out my windshield and I saw him walking along the shoulder. From that direction. He didn’t see me. He was kind of shuffling his feet. It seemed like he was talking to himself.”
    “What was he wearing?”
    “One of those hooded sweatshirts like the kids have.”
    Ah, the hoodie.
    “What color was it?”
    “I don’t remember.”
    “Jacket, slacks?”
    “Sorry. I wasn’t paying much attention. I didn’t know who he was at that point—I hadn’t heard aboutthe Roadside Cross stuff. All I knew was that he was weird and scary. He was carrying that cross, and he had a dead animal.”
    “An animal?”
    A nod. “Yeah, a squirrel or groundhog or something. It had its throat cut.” He gestured with his finger at his own neck.
    Dance hated any atrocities committed against animals. Still, she kept her voice even as she asked, “Had he just killed it?”
    “I don’t think so. There wasn’t much blood.”
    “Okay, then what happened?”
    “Then he looks up and down the road and when he doesn’t see anybody he opens his backpack and—”
    “Oh, he had a backpack?”
    “That’s right.”
    “What color was it?”
    “Uhm, black, I’m pretty sure. And he takes a shovel out, a little one. The sort that you’d use on a camping trip. And he opens it up and digs a hole and then puts the cross in the ground. Then . . . this is really weird. He goes through this ritual. He walks around the cross three times, and it looks like he’s chanting.”
    “Chanting?”
    “That’s right. Muttering things. I can’t hear what.”
    “And then?”
    “He picks up the squirrel and walks around the cross again five times—I was counting. Three and five . . . Maybe it was a message, a clue, if somebody could figure it out.”
    After The Da Vinci Code, Dance had observed, a lot of witnesses tended to decrypt their observations rather than just say what they’d seen.
    “Anyway, he opened his backpack again and pulled out this stone and a knife. He used the stone to sharpen the blade. Then he held the knife over the squirrel. I thought he was going to cut it up, but he didn’t-. I saw his lips moving again, then he wrapped the body up in some kind of weird yellow paper, like parchment, and put it in the backpack. Then it looked like he said one last thing and went up the road the way he came. Loping, you know. Like an animal.”
    “And what did you do then?”
    “I left and went on to a few more meetings. I went back to the office. That’s when I went online and saw the news about the boy. I saw his picture. I freaked out. I called nine-one-one right away.”
    Dance gestured Michael O’Neil over.
    “Michael, this is interesting. Mr. Pfister’s been real helpful.”
    O’Neil